Hot City Cocktails
by magisterquinn
Summary: [AU] This is Jump in a heat wave. They say heat is good for business ‘cause when the weather gets hot, people like their drinks cold. How do 5 people cope with the city life? Think like 100 Cigarettes the movie. BBxRae, RobxStar and CyxBee
1. Green Eyes

**Author's Note: More edits! This is, by far, my favourite story so I'm a bit disappointed more people don't understand it. The best way to read it: read it once and get the gist of it then take all the chapters and lay them side by side then read the dates chronologically. I swear you'll find 100x times more insight this way. **

**I've never packed so much symbolism and content into one story so it'll take some time for the average reader. The more you read it, the more subtleties you'll find and the more you'll almost hear the characters and their distinct dialects in your head. I promise you, take the time with this one and you won't be disappointed.**

**Like I said originally, this is a heightened, parabolic look into city life. The way a tween might imagine it if they watch Friends or Sex and the City. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Teen Titans, as for the drinks, I didn't invent them. They're real, but stay legal folks.**

**

* * *

**

**Green Eyes**  
1.5 fl. oz. of Vodka  
1.0 fl. oz. of Blue Curacao  
1.5 fl. oz. of Orange Juice  
Ice

Mixing Procedure  
Combine all ingredients in a cocktail shaker with the ice, shake, strain into a martini glass.

* * *

_Aug 3_

The melting point of industrial steel is 2750°F. Sand is created at 3133° and ice melts at 32°. The melting point of human in Jump City is 95°. They say heat is good for business 'cause when the weather gets hot, people like their drinks cold. But when it gets this hot, even at night, the drinks can't get cold enough.

I stack a crumbling tower of ice on my glass and fill it with orange juice. When it gets this hot, the ice machine is my best friend. I mean, I know it's an energy zapper but totally worth the money spent to power it. Aside from the global warming spiel, giga-watts are my friend.

I look out the window making sure to keep the tall glass of juice by my cheek. This is Jump on a heat wave. And not just any ordinary heat wave because to top it all off, there's a smog alert. Yeah, it's that bad. I watch as the gold-painted performer across the street stay perfectly still, and I don't blame him. Under those layers of paint and paint coated clothing, he must be cooking from the inside out. A woman passes by to drop some change in his can and he barely manages a nod.

"Ha, schmuck. This is why we _smart_ people get jobs indoors," I dictate to myself, taking another healthy chug of orange juice.

"Gar, are you talking to yourself again? Get your butt downstairs and start cutting those lemons," a rough voice called from down the hall, "And get out of my office."

Vic Stone walked through the door and scratched his big bald head, "Jesus-"

"Was a good man," I interrupt with a toast of my OJ.

"Gar! Look at the time, man. It's almost 5, we open in an hour."

I down the rest of the juice and let out an obnoxious, yet satisfied, 'aaahhhhhhh' in Vic's face. He grabs my face and pushes me backwards right into the doorframe.

I rub the sore part on the back of my head and scowl the worst I can at him, "Watch where you swing those cannons you call arms, big lummox."

He laughed and kicked me sideways out the door. Vic was my best bud, you'd never guess it the way we talk to each other but we are. Like, since when we kids he's had my back and I… well I made him laugh. Then we got older, he got a girlfriend, I stayed single and he opened this place, The Screwdriver Bar and Lounge. And, being the awesome friend I was, I decided to let him hire me as head bartender. That's right, _head_, as in _the_ bartender of all bartenders.

I'm damn good too. I can make the best Manhattans this side of a Long Island Iced Tea, and you can ask a Tennessee Cowboy or a Missouri Mule and they'll both say the same thing, 'Bloody Caesar, that's a real Stringer' because after the Sex on the Beach you'll have a Screaming Orgasm, no lie.

"Hehehe, Gar you clever, handsome devil you."

Seriously though, I mix a mean drink. I started, actually, way before The Screwdriver opened. A part of me likes to think Vic opened the bar for me. But as much as I'd like to think it to reality, he opened it because he didn't like the 9 to 5 paper mill. He also likes to shape his own life. Heck, that man practically built his own house and car. I'm the exact opposite; sometimes I just buy new clothes instead of doing laundry. So why are we friends? It's that tireless story of the odd couple, the two roommates; one's a messy slacker the other's a hard-working neat-freak. I was the slacker and Vic was my vacuum.

I got into the stupid stuff that college boys do and Vic got a decent job. I kept getting that same talk that I have to do something with my life. I tried, I really did, working at every tech place and superstore job Vic hooked me up with but those never went anywhere. The best I did was a solid two months before I quit. Scratch that, before I was fired.

That's when I got to 'tending. Sitting at bars I began to learn how to mix drinks and liked it. Not to mention Cocktail, man Tom was cool in the day. So I took a bartending course at the community college and started at a small bar by the campus. Now bartending isn't the most practical thing a guy with a BSc can do, but it's what I'm good at. No, scratch that, great at.

I tell myself, 'I'm great at this,' and for a change I'm right.

* * *

_May 9_

This was the worst ever. You almost never say that when you're doing what you love for a living, but this was brutal. If I ever have to mix another Cosmopolitan again I'm going to shoot someone.

The bar was booked by a bachelorette party and it was hell. Girls really have no place in bars but to be hit on. They shouldn't buy their own drinks 'cause they don't know nothing but Cosmo's, Mojito's and Long Island Iced Tea's. Now, The Screwdriver has hosted _bachelor_ parties before and those I don't mind. I mean, they bring pretty decent strippers. But women? Impossible!

'Do you guys know any good male strippers?' 'Why are the women's washrooms so small' 'Ohh, I broke a nail, boo-freakin'-hoo.'

And who wants a _male_ stripper? Okay, maybe I'm being unfair but tonight was really horrible. My bus finally comes and I hop on, dropping the fare quickly and searching the back for a nice private seat. A woman in the back spots me and gives me a wink, she's wearing fishnet stockings, a tight red-leather skirt, a gold beaded top and don't get me started about her hair. I hold back a wince and sit by the driver.

Not to offend any of you homosexuals, but I'm not gay either. I just think that women should know their places. That's kitchen, bathrooms and bedrooms. Not necessarily in that order. Sure I've dated around but none of them have really clicked. I used to go insane for girls when I was younger. Y'know, I had my moped and chasing skirt was my second hobby. But I like to think I've grown up and not just any chick is _the_ chick.

Like tonight, there were drunk women all over me. If I were 5 years younger I'd have thought, 'hot damn! I _love_ this job.' But after you realize drunken women will bail out on you in the morning, or worse kick you out, then that one night stand loses its appeal. And you start wanting more.

I think about all this, women, love, loss and of the sort as the bus makes its final rounds. The blinking pink, yellow and green neon of the living city starts to die as bars close and clubs start kicking people out around me. The bus fills with kids, naïve and engrossed in the opposite sex. No doubt headed to some obscure one night pleasure. You could smell their musk of booze, cologne and desperation.

And sitting there, surrounded by reminders of my past, watching my city shut down, I begin to grow up.

* * *

_July 23_

I see her for the first time. She's hot, no doubt, but too hot. I mean like, Hottie McHottie. Black hair cut short around her chin at the front and lifting to something of a pixie in the back. Edgym, Gar likes. Blue eyes I can see from here and the longest legs I've seen on The Screwdriver's tiny dance floor.

I think I'm staring. I'm staring but I can't stop. Hmm, must be some sort of witchcraft.

She walks up to me and orders a Devil's Advocate. Witchcraft and a tricky drink. Takes a lot of finesse.

I smile and nod, flashing her my best 'How you doin?' smile. Nothing. She turns away, looking bored. I'm straining the mix when I open my mouth to talk to her and a guy walks up to her and slips his arm around her waist. I take a deep breath and refocus on the drink.

Damn.

* * *

_Aug 3_

"I'm town for a sales pitch to Wayne Industries. Do you know how hard it is to get an appointment with…"

Can you believe this guy? He comes in here in a power suit, orders a Tom Collins and decides to chat me up. Seriously, do I look like your therapist, bud? People take this, the-bartender-is-your-friend thing way too seriously. I mix myself another Cough Drop and down it quickly.

"Stop drinking on the job, Gar," Vic grabs my on the shoulder and takes the shot glass from my hand.

"But it's soo good," I feign reaching for the glass again and he holds me back. His whole hand covers my entire shoulder. Vic's one of those guys that you'd think was the bouncer. Hell, on really hectic nights he actually did do that himself. Built like a football player, Vic, believe or not, used to be smaller than me when we were growing up. Then I don't know what happened, growth spurt, whole eggs, napping, I don't know what he did but he shot up like a beanstalk. And I stayed the same height since the 9th grade.

"I need you remotely sober tonight, B, I gotta go out for a sec." 'B' was his nickname for me, it came from 'bro'… I think. But sometimes it feels like it stands for 'bitch', "Hold down the fort 'til I get back."

"When-" I call out to his receding back.

"Be back by one, sweetie, don't wait up," he says with a wave and a mortifying flying kiss.

"So, what is he, your lover?" A throaty voice calls me from behind. I turn and see her, the girl from last week.

I scoff, "No, he's my partner. I mean, my _business_ partner."

She nods patronizingly, "Okay. I'll have a-"

"Let me guess," I interrupt, "A Devil's Advocate?" She smiles with a nod and the hand I'm propping myself up with goes weak and I knock over a bottle of Merlot. Smooth as silk that was put thrown in a warzone. I swallow visibly and pick up the bottle, gesturing that I can make that drink. The whole time I steal glances at her, she's watching me. Smiling the whole time as if there was a joke we were both in on, except I wasn't in it. I smile back. Is she flirting?

"Here you go," I present her the drink with a dashing bow. She looks at it for a second like I poisoned it before taking a sip. Then I realize, holy cow, she's still sitting. Where's her boyfriend?

"So, you don't come here much."

She licked her lips, "Yeah, no. I just moved here."

"New to the city? Business? Moved in with you boyfriend?"

She scoffs and the smile disappears, "No, well yes and no. Mainly no. Listen I know you're a bartender and you're used to people opening up to you and everything. But I'm not _people_ so I'd appreciate it if you'd just back off."

"Understood," I push off the counter and walk to the other side of the bar taking an order for a tall lager.

"Aw, aw shit. Hey! Hey, come back!" I hear her call me and I turn, "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. I'm sorry."

"Hey, no problem. I'm a bartender, so I'm used to it." She smiled and scoffed a littler, taking another sip of her drink.

"And I'm a bitch so I'm used to pissing people off, but I'm still sorry."

"And I'm Gar, but you're still forgiven," I return and offer my hand across the bar and she stares at it for a moment before taking it.

"Raven," she says hesitantly as if not sure whether she should be giving her name out to some strange bartender in the big city.

"Raven, pretty."

* * *

_When I was 16 I knew a girl that lived on my block. She was really pretty; blonde hair, blue eyes, skinny, y'know the typical 'popular' girl._

_She came from a really messed up family and, lo and behold, so did I. We hit it off right away, I made her laugh and her laugh made me smile. I thought she was the one. Then she dumped me._

_I guess she wasn't the one._

_It took me a while to get over her, but when I did it was in the worst way. I think that's over now._

_

* * *

_

"I'm sorry but I've always imagine, uhm, big burly tattooed men bartending, not-"

"Scrawny, un-tattooed, nerds?"

She rolls her eyes, "No, that's not what I meant." We've been talking for a while and she's gone through 3 drinks. I begin to worry that she's getting drunk, especially when she laughs. She just doesn't strike me as the kind of girl who just gets giggly.

"I know, I know."

"I _meant_ I didn't think bartenders were very… attractive," we exchange smiles. I like her. Like, really like her. She's pretty, smart and funny, when she wants to be. She doesn't smile at all my jokes and sometimes she looks as though she's tired of me, but she sits anyways. Her eyes are beautiful but sullen, the kind of eyes you see on elderly people who have seen everything. Or heart broken women.

I shake my head, "You don't mean that."

"What?" her head perks up and she raises an eyebrow. I look down at the 3 empty martini glasses in front of her. She gets the message.

"Oh, yeah." She looks at her watch and swears to herself, "Yeah, you're right. Fuck, it's late. I have to get home." She gets up, slips a few bills across the counter and starts to walk away.

"Wait!" I call out and she turns, "I'll call you a taxi." I pick up the phone and dial the local taxi place.

"Hey Roy, I got a girl here who needs escorting," she smiles at me as I negotiate for a pick up.

"There," I say, "There will be a taxi outside waiting for you. Now are you sure you're okay?"

She nods, "Thanks Gar." She walks away but then turns, opening her mouth to say something. I expect something more, but she just closes it like she changed her mind and smiles at me giving me a wave. She mouths 'goodnight' and walks away.

I should have asked for her number. But what if that was all just some drunken flirtation? What if she didn't really mean it? What if she still does have a boyfriend? I'm such an idiot. I bang my head down on the bar then I realize that may have not been the best idea with all the spilled drinks. I grab a towel and dry my forehead.

"Hey man, I could use a Golden Shot," I look up at the guy standing over me, asking for a drink.

"Yeah? You and me both buddy."

* * *


	2. Pink Lady

**Author's Note: I forgot to add that when there is no date and the writing is italicized then it is just a little insight into the character's past. Think of it as a thought tangent. If there is no date and it is not an internal memory, then the date continues from where it was last mentioned. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Titans.**

**Pink Lady**  
2.0 fl. oz. of Gin  
1.0 fl. oz. of Lemon Juice  
2 Dashes of Grenadine  
1 teaspoon of Egg White Powder  
Ice

Mixing Procedure  
Combine all ingredients in a cocktail shaker with the ice, shake, strain into a martini glass, garnish with a Maraschino Cherry.

* * *

_May 5_

Parties are, like, the most awesome things to plan. And I am stellar at planning them. So you'd have to guess how excited I am to be planning Jenn's bachellorette party. I found out last week that I'd be at the helm of this massive event and have been busy as a bee planning since.

I check my make up on my compact again and step out of the taxi. I'm meeting up with Vic Stone, the owner of _the_ hottest bar in Jump city. My friend was getting married and the last night of her single life was going to go out with a bang.

"Hi, I'm Vic Stone," a big black man comes to greet me at the front doors. He gives me the warmest smile and pulls down two chairs from the bar for us to sit on, all gentlemanly-like. I like him.

"I'm Kori Anders, Mr Stone," I offer him a friendly hand. Surprisingly his grip isn't strong and overpowering, if anything I think my grip out powered his. He flexes his hand and shakes it.

"O, gosh, I'm sorry. Sometimes I don't know my strength," I say apologetically, smiling my sweetest at him. I've always been strong, I could never explain it. I suppose it's from my family so I should just grin and bear it but sometimes it gets irritating. Guys rarely fine strong women attractive, especially when it's physical strength.

He just laughs, "No problem Ms. Anders. It's nice to see a strong grip on a woman. So what did you have in mind for your party?"

I flash him a big smile and take out my notebook from my purse. In it are my plans, designs, drinks details, finger food, bands, times and dates. He sits there patiently nodding and listening. He glances at my amateur drawings of decorations with out laughing. He can probably tell that I've spent a lot more time than I should have on this.

"So I was thinking, you know a nice Luau theme. And I'm not sure if you'd allow for decorations to be put up."

He shook his great head, "No problem, ma'am, as long as you guys set up and take down. I don't have a big staff here and I can't hold them here long enough to clean up."

"O, that's perfectly understandable. We'll come by early and stay late to set up and take down. Now as for finger foods…"

We chat for a while. He's a nice man, letting my imagination run away with me and allowing for most of my requests. His bar is very nice too; of course I'm a bit biased. I have some wonderful memories here.

"Thank you again, Mr. Stone, for seeing me today," I say as he ushers me out the door. He smiles at me and holds the door open. The hot air rushes past my face as I adjust to the temperature change. It was pretty chilly in there.

"That's no problem, Ms. Anders, I'm glad that you chose The Screwdriver for your event."

* * *

_April 25_

Let me make this clear, I don't go bar hopping. It's just not my thing. I just don't understand the whole scene, alcohol, strange men, unusual dancing. Admittedly when I was younger the bright lights and loud music was fascinating but then "partying" became a chore. Week in and week out you would find a "jam" on the weekend, do the ritual of texting all your friends to find something to do. Eventually all I wanted to do was watch a movie with some close friends rather than be hit on 5 million times.

So what am I doing here if it's not my scene? Well I always figured, try everything once. So when Jenn suggested we hit The Screwdriver, I've got to admit at first I thought she meant we do some sort of woodworking project, I figured, why not?

I sit down at the bar; the bartender gives me a friendly smile and asks if I want anything. I shake my head and he turns to clean some glasses at the sink. I turn and watch Jenn, she was on the dance floor with her beau, Wally. Jenn and Wally are engaged. Why they continue to do things like go to bars is beyond me.

Suddenly an arm bumps me and I hit the opposite elbow on the bar counter.

"O, geez, Miss I'm sorry," a man gives me a weak smile, apologizing profusely, "I didn't mean to bump you, are you okay?" I don't notice the shock of pain surging through my arm from when my funny bone hit the counter. I just see the most handsome boy I'd seen there asking me if I was okay.

"No, no, I-"

"No? You're not okay? Uh, wow, I'm sorry I just-"

"No, I mean I'm okay." He stops, looks at me and laughs, taking a seat beside me.

"I'm sorry, I'm just a huge… idiot, I'm a huge idiot."

"I'm Kori," I say. His shyness is adorable. I notice his eyes; they were two different colours, blue and brown. He smiles at me and we both laugh and I catch him staring, but I don't say anything.

"H-hi. I'm Richard," he says, offering me his hand. Something about the way he says his name tells me he isn't usually like this. Not usually shy and bumbling. There's a confidence, a pride, in how he says his name that I like. He runs his hand over his hair, not through it, over it. I can see that it's gelled into spikes with some sort of industrial glue. I giggle, even boys can have their own vices right?

"So, what do you do Richard?"

* * *

_May 9_

This is finally it. The big day. Well not _the _big day, but _my_ big day. Jenn's bachellorette party. I'm so terribly excited I almost drop the cut out of Elvis with a guitar. Thankfully Kelly is there to catch it and hand it back to me.

Everything is almost set, the bar is almost ready and Vic has been a great help. Can you believe I forgot the strippers? I would never have remembered if Jenn herself didn't remind me. With the commotion of the wedding and the party and everything, I'm about ready to pass out.

"Kor? Where do you want the palm trees?"

"Right by the doorway," I point out. A few of the girls volunteered to help me out today and thank God or I might have had a heart attack of worry. There was still so much to do in the next hour and a half! I finish pining up the cutouts and I hear crashing and clanging around me. The girls were dropping boxes and party favours everywhere. I peer out from the corner of my eye and see some of The Screwdriver's staff helping out. It was Victor and his little bartender friend.

Kelly pats my leg from below, "Relax Kor, it's going to be great. Jenn will love it."

My phone suddenly rang in my pocket, "Hello?"

"Kori?"

"Richard, what is wrong?"

"Nothing, where is this thing again?"

"I think it's at Roy's house. On 35th and Main."

"I thought it was at Garth's?"

"I don't know either, honey I'm kind of busy."

"Oh, yeah. I'll just call Roy."

"Okay, bye," I hang up the phone to see Kelly smiling up at me, "What?"

"You guys are so cute!"

* * *

_He's kind._

_Giving and sweet. When we talk, he looks at my eyes and not my chest unlike most men. Richard is so wholesome, just and fair. He treats me like a princess, with patience and tolerance to my occasional ditzyness._

_He even tried to teach me how to cook once. Only once. It was Sheppard's Pie. It didn't go so well, but he ate it anyways with a smile._

_He's the most caring person I've ever met._

_At night I rest my head on his strong chest and listen to him. To the rhythm of his body, his heart beat, his breathing, his muscles contracting and expanding under my ear.

* * *

_

_Aug 3_

My friend Raven flew in two weeks ago. She moved in with her boyfriend, Malcolm. They were moving to Jump together but broke up within 2 days of getting here. And she's been a train wreck since. Absolutely inconsolable. He was the one who wanted to move here in the first place. As it turns out he wanted to move here so he could get back together with his floozy ex-girlfriend.

"Hey, you know what would cheer you up?" She looks up at me and raises an eyebrow.

"What?" I push off the couch and sit straight up. She continues to sit there on the floor. It's been ridiculously hot here recently. We've been at a smog alert and a heat wave. It is increasingly difficult to do anything let alone be cheerful about it but I try anyway.

"Let's go out." Her face looks like it died. I'm no party animal but my gods I was bored!

"Out?"

"You know, out of doors. Out of this dreary half furnished apartment, away from your bland grey coloured walls," personally mine are orange. Not the kind that hurt your eyes but just a soft tangerine. Not that Raven would know anything about soft anything, "Who paints their walls grey anyways?"

"The people here before me. Kor, I don't wanna go out. I don't 'go out', remember?"

"I know you don't do much socializing, Raven, but you have got to get back up on your feet," She stares at me like I'm insane, "meet people."

"No," she scowls. I've known Raven almost all my life. It's hard to imagine how we became such good friends but we did. She was always that weird kid, you know dark and gothy who wore baggy clothes that covered her and never _ever_ smiled. She read a lot and drew more. I was the kid who planned out her wedding with Kens and Barbies and rode my little pink bike around the block saying hi to all the neighbours and being followed by the neighbour's dog. The neighbour's dog never liked Raven, he bit her once and she had to get a shot.

I suppose our differences were bound to get in the way of the friendship, but not by much. She moved out to LA to become a tattoo artist and I stayed in Jump to become a teacher. She hated children and I didn't approve of body art, but she always called or I called. I was ecstatic to find out she was moving back here but when that dirt bag of a man she called her boyfriend dumped her, I was furious and we quickly became best of friends again.

"How about a movie? Let's go watch a movie!"

"How 'bout no."

"Oh, I know. Let's go get our nails done," I wave my fingers and her face. She looks up and I draw back quickly, afraid she might bite me, "Or let's go to the beach and just watch the sunset."

"Let's not and say we did."

"Come on Raven, I'm going insane here! Look at this place, this is so unlike you. You're living like a packrat, you could have at least unpacked these boxes." I look around and wince at the piles of boxes. It looks as though the only thing she decided to unpack was the phone and the TV.

"How about _you_ unpack them." I leer at her but she doesn't seem to notice.

"Oh, I know! Let's go to a bar! I know this _perfect_ place at-"

"No!" She glared at me and crossed her arms. I look at her as if she were joking.

"You know I'm still stronger than you?" I cross my arms and challenge her with my eyes.

"You wanna bet? You'll never get me to no bar. Neither hell nor high waters will get me to set foot in a-"

* * *


	3. Screwdriver

**Author's Note: HA! So I found a ton and a half mistakes and missing things in this one (like dates) plus I added a little monologue for him too. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Teen Titans.**

**

* * *

**

**Screwdriver**  
1.5 fl. oz. of Vodka  
Orange Juice  
Ice

Mixing Procedure  
Fill a highball glass with ice, add Vodka and top with orange juice, garnish with a slice of orange, serve with a straw.

* * *

_Aug 3_

I'm sweatin' like a pig, which is, if you think about it, a really dumb expression. Pigs don't sweat an' that's why they roll around in the mud, to cool themselves off. Jesus, listen to me, I sound like Gar. The sun's rays beat down on my head as I finish haulin' crates of beer and liquor from my truck and I wipe beads of sweat off my nose. Thank God, that was the last one. Shutting the back door of the pickup back up, I swing the trolley around and push it inside.

I've been hauling crates of booze all morning, today was restocking day. What with all this heat, business has been booming. People wanna stay cool, drinkin' keeps 'em cool. Plus The Screwdriver's got the most powerful A/C in the entire entertainment district.

O yeah, baby. I stocked up this bar with the latest tech around. I gotta admit I was a bit of a nerd when I was younger. Which would probably explain why Gar is my best friend. I was all into computers and things, uploading, downloading and updating. Making shiny new graphics and playing the sickest new video games. I had hardware that took up half of my room and I blew all my earnings on gadgets.

And my car. Whoo! I had a sweet ride. It's just a Mazda 3, y'know, with the hatchback but boy did I trick that baby out. Shocks, rims, new engine, tail fins, low to the ground, sun roof, killer 2000 watt sound system, a game station, the kind that played DVD's, in the back and little monitors that popped up at the dash and the back of each seat. Put the hatchback and there was a sound system that could start a party at a Walmart parking lot. O yea, my baby was pimped out!

I still have 'er, sittin' in my super secure garage which, of course, I built myself. If so much as a can of paint was out of place in there, I'd know about it through my phone. I never take 'er out for work, wouldn't wanna scratch the paint or risk it getting stolen. Besides, she wasn't built to lift things. She was built to look hot. She does her job very well. So I only bring my baby out at night, when her lights really shine.

I walk over to the bar fridge beneath the counter and take out a sandwich I was saving there. I pull it out and, typically, there's a bite on it.

"Garfield!" I holler and my voice rings through the bar. Nothing. He's upstairs in my office, I know it. Maybe I shoulda listened to him when he said I should get him his own place but he's a bartender. He doesn't need an office.

I trek up the stairs, hearing creaking as I go up. I should fix that sometime. I hear Gar's voice and think, is he there with someone? No, this is Gar.

"Gar? Are you talking to yourself again?"

* * *

_May 7_

Gar's sitting on the floor of my office when the phone rings. I don't know what he's doing down there but it's probably something stupid and childish; I swear being friends with this kid is like having a dog that followed me home. I don't know how I got him and I don't know how to get rid of him. Then I got attached to the flea-bitten thing and can't bear to put him down.

"Answer the frikkin' phone, Vic! What's wrong, all that muscle clogging up your ears?" I kick the back board of my desk, hitting him in the back. I hear him squeal an 'ow!' and laugh at the idiot before picking up the phone.

"The Screwdriver Bar and Lounge, Victor Stone speaking," Gar is up on his knees, imitating me by making faces. I give the back board another swift kick and miss, he laughs before I reach over and slap him on the head.

"Hi Mr. Stone? This is Kori Anders speaking, I have your bar booked in two days?"

"Sure Ms. Anders, what do you need?" I lean back on my chair and sip on a glass of orange juice.

"I was wondering if you knew where I could find a good male stripper?"

I nearly spit out the juice and it dribbles down my face, "I'm so-, I'm sorry? A male stripper?"

Gar gives me the funniest face and bursts out in laughter.

"Yes, a male stripper. I'm afraid in the busy-ness of everything I have forgotten to book one, unfortunately I do not know much about male strippers or strippers in general and was wondering if you could help me." I fumble under my desk for the Yellow Pages and plop it on my desk.

I thumb through it quickly, "Strippers, strippers. Uhm, Ms. Anders I don't- I mean I'm not sur-. A _male_ stripper you say? For the bachelorette party. Oh, yes that it is, it's tradition to have strippers but- Oh, okay. I think I have one. HIVE FIVE Strippers, their number is…"

As I recite the number to the woman on the phone, Gar is keeling over on the floor in hysterical laughter.

"It sure is noisy over there, Mr. Stone." I get up and give Gar a kick but he can't stop laughing.

"I'm sorry, there's just a dog in my office I'll get rid of it soon… is that everything Ms. Anders? Oh thank God, I mean good. Good, very good. Thank you. Buh-bye." I hang up the phone and fall backwards on my chair. Shoot, the phone book is still on my desk and open to the strippers page. I quickly close it and throw it back under my desk and give a sigh of relief.

"Oh, oh man. Male strippers?" Gar asks, finally getting to his knees and using my desk as support.

"Yeah, she doesn't know where to find them. So she calls _me_," I throw my head back on the chair and have a good laugh.

"Y'know, dude, this is why women shouldn't get involved in bars. Or business for that matter. They're weird and complicated like that. Touchy and all demand-y."

"Shut up man. You're just grumpy 'cuz you haven't been laid in months."

He throws his hands up in the air in his defense, "Listen, all I'm saying is no more chick parties? Okay?"

I shake my head and we revel in silence for a few moments.

"Dude?" Gar asks, "You know what this means?"

"What?" My head still back and my body still reclined.

"There's gunna be _male_ strippers in the bar."

* * *

_July 23 _

I catch Gar slackin' on the job, again. Thank goodness there aren't any drinkers yet. He's just standin' there, leaning on the counter and just starin' at the dance floor. I follow his gaze to some girl. I glance between them and realize something. Gar likes her. I look back to him and notice his eyes are glazed over. Yep, it's either he's dead or he likes her.

This is great! I mean, I haven't seen my buddy with a girl for how long.

Sometimes I do worry about him though. Ever since Karen and I got engaged, he's sort of _dazed_ all the time. He hasn't dated in weeks and hasn't had a steady relationship since… well for a long time. And sometimes I get the impression he doesn't want to meet someone. His last girlfriend, what was her name, Tori, Terri, Cassie, Mandy? Well, after her he's had these really sexist thoughts. I don't know, man, I just don't like it. I may be temporary, or not. Geez, she wrecked him something awful. I just hope he gets someone stable. And soon.

I walk towards him but see that the girl heads to the bar. I feel an obligation to take care of Gar sometimes. Like I'm his older, more responsible and certainly better looking older brother.

The woman orders a drink and I think I catch a glimpse of Gar's 'How you doin?' smile. I watch, horrified, as a man from the dance floor approaches her and slinks his arm around her waist. Gar's face drops like an anvil.

Damn, Gar. Sorry dude.

* * *

_Gar fell once. Down this stingy, abandoned well. We were 7 and playing in the empty lot when he just disappeared into thin air. You shoulda heard my voice, screaming for my lost friend until I found the hole. _

_He broke his leg and dislocated his left shoulder. All I could remember was my best friend's voice crying. After calling the cops, I waited with him. Talking through the pain so he wouldn't pass out. Cracking jokes through the tears._

_I blamed myself; I shoulda been lookin' out for 'im instead of that stupid video game. Gar was my brother. Growing up in houses like ours, you had to stick together and I let him down. _

_I thought I would never let anything hurt him that bad again. _

_But then he fell in love.

* * *

_

_Aug 3 _

I just left Gar at the bar. In charge. I'm gunna find it in pieces when I get back aren't I? No, I'm sure that Gar can hold his own for a few hours while I pick up the-

Oh no. Sirens. I don't need this now. I pull over quickly and breathe in a little. The guy in my rear view gets off his motorcycle, flips through his little tickets pad and makes his way to my car. I wasn't speeding, was I? I'm driving the Mazda tonight so I know my tail lights are working, hell with the push of a button the whole car lights up like a Christmas tree. I was probably speeding anyway, in my baby the rules of the road don't apply. But it's convincing the cop at my window that's the hard part. I roll it down and smile.

"Hey officer," I look up at him. He has his bike helmet and shades on. It's 11 at night, why does this guy have his shades on. My eyes stumble across his chest for a name tag and they find one, "Listen officer Grayson, I was speeding I'm sorry, I-"

"You were 10 over the limit. That's hardly an infraction," he starts to scribble down on his little pad and I'm powerless to do anything. Honestly, what am I gunna do? Jump out of t he car and yell at him? Sleaze my way out of the ticket, I'm not Gar, I can't do that. Sometimes it sucks to be a mild-mannered, relatively law abiding citizen.

"Yeah," I take the ticket from him and smile a little, "So, sorry officer. It'll never happen again."

I see his eyebrow rise behind his glasses, "I'm sure." And with that, he walked back to his motorcycle and sped away ahead of me. I roll up my window and grumble to myself. Stupid pompous cop. 'I'm sure', what the heck was that supposed to mean?

Suddenly, just as I was getting back to the groove of the road, my phone rings.

"Yo."

"Victor Stone, don't you 'yo' me. Where the _hell_ are you?" Shit, my _loving_ fiancée. My driving slows for some reason as I try to reason with her.

"I'm grabbing the stuff now, baby. Honest, I'm just stepping _out_ of car the at the-"

"Vic, you've been saying that you were gunna pick these up for a _week_! Where _are_ you? Don't lie to me." I sigh and continue driving.

"Almost there, baby. I just got stopped by-"

"A ticket? You got _another_ ticket didn't you?" Busted.

"Victor! How many speeding tickets this week is that? You're going to lose your license and I wont have any choice but to sell that car of yours!"

"Aw, relax baby! Just a little one, only 10 over this time. No more speeding I swear." I try to calm her down as I pull over at the plaza. Aw no, no, no, no! I jump out of the car and press my face against the window. No! There are no lights but maybe there're still people inside. I knock a bit on the glass as I hear Bee still rambling on the other end of the phone. No!

"Shit," I try to be quiet. It doesn't work.

"Victor!?"

I press my ear against the phone and brace myself for a barrage, "Uh, baby? Hey, I love you, you know that. Well... uhm... The place _just_ closed…"

"WHAT?!?!"

* * *


	4. Miami Vice

**Author's Note: Here's a fun little fact. I got the title of this fic from a poster at a LCBO, alcohol store, in Toronto. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Teen Titans.

* * *

**

**Miami Vice**  
0.5 fl. oz. of White Rum  
0.5 fl. oz. of Vodka  
0.5 fl. oz. of Gin  
0.5 fl. oz. of Blue Curacao  
0.5 fl. oz. of Tequila  
1.0 fl. oz. of Lime Juice  
Crushed Ice  
Cola

Mixing Procedure  
Fill a highball glass with Crushed Ice, add White Rum, Vodka, Gin, Blue Curacao and Tequila, stir, top with Cola and Lime Juice, garnish with a Wedge of Lime, serve with a Straw and a Stirrer.

* * *

_April 25 _

Let me make this clear, I don't go bar hopping. I'd like to say I'm undercover, but I'm not. Bars give me headaches. That and they're stinking cesspools of sleaze and corruption. Come to think of it, I'm not sure why I _am_ here. It's Roy's fault. It usually is. I cower by the back of the club, watching all the women on the dance floor. What am I doing? I should be at home, or at the station filing cases or doing something productive.

I'm no good at this type of thing. Put me in a room full of armed robbers and a bomb that will explode in 10 minutes, that I can do blindfolded. Dating, not so much. So what am I doing here? I don't know, I blame Roy. He's my cousin who, for the record, looks _nothing_ like me.

He owns a taxi service around town and says that The Screwdriver is a great place to just hang out. He may be laid back but I'm not. God, I'm bored of this. I walk over to the bar and plop down on the stool. Not was comfy as you'd think. The bartender walks to me, wiping down a glass and gives me a smile.

"A drink, copper?" My eyes must have bulged out of my head. Did I hear right? Did he call me 'copper'?

"How did-"

"Knew you were a cop the moment you walked in," he says putting the glass down, grabbing the counter and staring me in the eye, "You walk funny. Like you're used to heavy things weighing you down. Plus you 'cased the joint' first to make sure there were no under-aged kids around. Man you might as well wear your uniform."

I look down and see what I'm wearing. Navy polo, slightly unbuttoned and tucked into my single pair of fading blue jeans which is held up by a black leather belt. Oh and runners, just in case. I shift in my seat, reminding myself that my wallet was in my back pocket and in it my badge.

"Okay, so I may be… on edge a bit." He backs off the counter, pulls down a glass and starts mixing liquids in it. I don't know what they are. I'm not a booze hound. He plops it in front of me.

"Well don't stare at it, drink. This'll get you off that edge," he smiles, his arms crossed. I look down at the drink hesitantly. It sure was… green. And colourful. He garnished it with a lime and a straw.

"Seriously, dude, drink it." I pick up the glass and give the bartender a look that said 'if this is garbage, I'll arrest you'. He just smiles and I'm not sure whether my message got through. I finally drink it. Not bad.

"Thanks man."

He laughs, "No problem. Listen, you're single. I can tell, you got no buddies to spot you, you're not wearing a ring and you don't look like the 'let's go to the bar to drink' type, so here's a piece of advice from an expert. Talk."

I just stare at him, unsure of what he's asking of me.

"Seriously, go talk. About anything. Ohh, talk about how you're a cop. Chicks'll love that. Alright, you don't believe me? The only reason any girl ever talked to me was 'cause I said I was going to roam around the country on my motorbike. Girls dig that shit, the "edgy danger guy" stuff. And you? You got "edgy danger guy" written all over you."

I'm still drinking, hoping if I do he'll shut up.

"What about her?" He nods his head, gesturing to someone behind me. I turn skeptically and don't see anything.

"Who?" There's a hundred girls on the dance floor, I can't tell who he's talking about.

"Her? Red hair, legs up to her neck?" Then I see her. She's wearing a short purple skirt and purple tube top, looking slightly tired from all the dancing. She's gorgeous. I see her for the first time, and I can't stop seeing her.

* * *

_My parents died when I was little. My entire family shot down in one fell swoop. I'll never forgive the scumbags who did it. I want to look them in the eyes and ask them what it feels like. What it's like to ruin a life._

_I've been an orphan since. The smallest kid in the playground. Picked on by everyone bigger than me. Blown off by all the girls in high school. Geek. Loser. Nerd._

_Orphan.

* * *

_

"Hey, hey buddy! Dude! Stop starin'!" I snap out of it just in time for avoid her gaze. The bartender makes a few gestures then raises both his eyebrows suggestively.

"She's comin', dude. Do your stuff. Try that talking thing." Sure enough, the redhead sits a few stools away from me. She looks at Gar who gives her a smile and asks if she wants anything. He goes back to wiping the glasses and gives me a wink. I turn to her, open my mouth to speak, and she turns towards the dancefloor. Swing and a miss.

The bartender signals me to go ahead, giving me a few encouraging nods to approach her. I nod and get up. I walk with determination, I don't know why, but I want to make a good impression. Be cool, suave and charming. Be like how I am at work and not how I am around regular people. Be cool, suave and charming.

Be cool, suave and charming.

I walk towards her, raise my arm to wave and… elbow her in the back. Good job, Dick, that was cool, suave _and_ charming. I try my best to smile but she's grabbing her elbow and wincing in pain. Oh crap, she hit her elbow, oh man.

"Oh, geez, Miss I'm sorry! I didn't mean to bump you, are you okay?"

"No, no, I-" She's not okay! Crap! I'm such dumbass. Meet a pretty girl and say hi? Maybe introduce yourself? No, Dick, you elbow her in the back!

"No? You're not okay? Uh, wow, I'm sorry I just-"

"No, I mean I'm okay." Nervous laughter leaks from my face along with looks of embarrassment and dejection.

"I'm sorry, I'm just a huge… idiot, I'm a huge idiot."

"I'm Kori," she says. Completely out of the blue and I'm floored. She's looking at me now, have I not replied? What did she say? My name! Say your name!

"H-hi. I'm Richard," I offer my hand hoping that she doesn't notice I'm shaking like wet dog. She giggles a little, probably at my stupidity.

"So, what do you do Richard?"

* * *

_July 23 _

I'm on the beat. Oh man, I do sound like an idiot when I think that. Well I am, and it's not glamour or 'money' but its work. The leather seats on the cop car are melting, with me on them. They say a heat wave is coming and it's all linked to this global warming.

The police car hums as I keep my pace slow, cruising the block before doubling back. My regular area is district 17 between Kennedy and Highway 101, more commonly known as the entertainment district. There's about 3 patrol cars here at any given night mainly because of the high activity in the area. They say here is the most dangerous place at night, the drunks, the hookers, the drugs. Most people don't see them but they're there. They're bound to be.

Dead air fills the radio. Not much activity on Monday nights. There is, of course, the occasional 'Where are you' and banter between cars but I never participate. The air is not for casual conversation. I take my job seriously. Very seriously.

The only occasion my mind may drift is when Kori floats by it. And I hate to say it, but that happens a lot.

I stop the car in front of The Screwdriver. That's where we met so many months ago. I was such an idiot, so shy and clumsy. I don't even know why I acted like that; I must have looked like such a moron.

I watch the doors as people pass in and out of The Screwdriver's doors. Some drunk, others aiding drunks. From my place across the street I watch if anyone even reaches for a set of keys, but thankfully there's none. Taxis weave in and out of the curb, picking up strays and groups of people.

That was when I see it, I wish don't but I do. I know it'll break her heart.

Two days ago, Kori's best friend flew in after years of absence. She was ecstatic, I don't think I've ever seen her so happy. The girl's name was Raven and she came with her boyfriend, Malcolm. Kori though it was great and talked all night about how they should get married since Raven is so happy.

Malcolm stumbles, drunk, out of the bar. A girl, not Raven, around his arm. He's laughing hysterically and messily kissing the girl, fumbling along the sidewalk. Raven comes out of the bar too, she's pissed and her eyes look like she's about to cry. She clenches her teeth and grabs Malcolm's sleeve, yelling and cursing in his face. The girl is just standing there, giggling like this was funny.

I unbuckle myself and radio in, "Possible disturbance at 55 Island Bay Road." My hand rests on the latch of my door, waiting to see if it all blows over. Raven is crying now, swearing at him between her sobs but still holding onto his arm. Suddenly Malcolm shoves her and she lands on her back on the side of the road.

Quick as a flash I'm over there, helping her out of the road and trying to console her. I help her up and walk over to Malcolm who's laughing at her, telling her what a frigid bitch she is and how he doesn't love her. And he never loved her.

I'm trying to shut him up, calm him down, so I tell his new arm candy to take him somewhere. Anywhere, just not here. She listens and grabs his arm and lays a wet kiss on his lips, he just smiles and follows her but not before flashing a finger. I don't know whether it's for me or for Raven.

I turn back to Raven who has her jacket tightly clutched around her is sobbing in that way people do when they don't want to cry anymore. When they're so pissed off and hurt that crying is weak, that crying is shameful. I can tell she's fighting the sobs and willing the tears to dissolve in the heat.

She doesn't want to cry, but she is.

* * *

_Aug 3 _

"Kori, I never thought I would meet anyone. I-I'm a little work obsessed, I know, and I used to think that there is nothing more important than my job. Then I met you, and everything changed. I can't think of a day passing without seeing you, hearing your voice, smelling your perfume," a deep breath, "Kori Anders, will you marry me?"

I let out a long breath and stare at the box in my hand. In it is the ring I've been saving up for. For her. The lights of passing cars snap me out of my reverie and I put the box back in the glove compartment. I'm going to propose. When, I'm not sure. How, not sure either. All I know is want to. I need to. I love her.

This sounds silly, especially coming from me. Five months ago, if you met me you'd think 'that guy, not a family guy' and you would have been right. Absolutely correct because five months ago, I didn't know Kori. She changed me and when I'm around her I feel like that shy teenager who got bullied after school and got spit at by all the popular girls can change. That memory of me disappears and there's nothing but here and now.

The future. This, this ring is my future. It's a black or white future, yes or no. I do or I don't. My job. I hadn't thought about it. What if one day I… And it's one of the guys who knocks on _her_ door one day… What's it like to ruin a life?

I shake the fear and remember the smell of her hair and the feel of her skin. She makes me feel like I don't know how describe. I guess Roy said it best, 'not like such an ass'. When she smiles, my God, when she smiles. It's like there's nothing her and her smile. She laughs like there's nothing to worry about and I _feel_ like there's nothing to worry about. I'm calm and next to her I can sleep with out… without feeling alone.

I never wanna feel alone again, and I never wanna _be_ alone again.

A car zooms past me and I remember where I am. I hit the sirens and start the car. That idiot was going 10 over the limit!

* * *


	5. Devil's Advocate

**Author's Note: Personal fav chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Teen Titans**

* * *

**Devil's Advocate  
**2.0 fl. oz. of Gin  
1 Dashes of Dry Vermouth  
1.0 fl. oz. of Creme de Framboise  
Ice

Mixing Procedure  
Pour all ingredients (except Creme de Framboise) into a mixing glass, stir, strain into a martini glass, add the Creme de Framboise.

* * *

_Aug 3 _

Kori's dragged me to a bar. She literally _dragged_ me, she wasn't kidding when she said she was still strong. No, not just any bar. _The_ bar. The godforsaken bar from last week. I feel like setting cockroaches loose on this place and calling the Health Department. Or just setting it on fire. That may be more fun.

She says she met her boyfriend here and maybe I can get back on my social feet here. He's that cop that so happened to pick me up from this very bar last week. I swear this place is cursed. A drink might help. That's probably the only thing that can. A nice drink.

I break away from her and the dance floor and walk over to the bar and watch as some big black guy man handles a smaller blonde guy behind the counter. I take a seat and watch as they bicker.

"Be back by one, sweetie, don't wait up," says the big as he walks away.

I hold back a laugh and ask, "So, what is he, your lover?" The blonde whips around so fast I swear he almost breaks his neck and I come face to face with him. He smiles and I notice his eyes. They're green. An imperfection, a pigment discoloration in the eye that people find attractive and I find intriguing.

He scoffs, "No, he's my partner. I mean, my _business_ partner." He stumbles through his words and its kind of cute, in that 16 year old way.

I nod patronizingly, "Okay. I'll have a-"

"Let me guess, A Devil's Advocate?" I smile and nod. He does some weird nodding thing and goes to fix my drink. How did he know? I can't remember but I wonder if he was here last week? He keeps looking at me and grinning. I can't figure out why but I smile at him anyways. Is he flirting?

"Here you go," he bows and places the drink in front of me. I've never been served with such… flair before and I stare at the drink. It looks normal enough. Why is he being so strange? I try to recollect whether this was a gay bar and think maybe it was just him. I wait a bit before taking a sip and decide that it isn't all that bad.

"So, you don't come here much," he asks. He's leaning on the counter now, just watching me. I try not to seem creeped out and wipe the excess off my lip. With my tongue, o God please don't get the wrong message. He smiles, he just did.

"Yeah, no. I just moved here."

"New to the city? Business? Moved in with your boyfriend?" He's flirting. I know it; why else ask about my boyfriend.

I scoff and can't help but leer at the mention of a boyfriend, "No, well yes and no. Mainly no."

Not really in the mood to talk about the past two weeks to a complete stranger, I snap at him, "Listen I know you're a bartender and you're used to people opening up to you and everything. But I'm not _people_ so I'd appreciate it if you'd just back off."

"Understood," he pushes off the counter, disappointed, and walks to another customer. Aw shoot, guilt rushes through me as I call him back.

"Aw, aw shit. Hey! Hey, come back!" he turns, "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. I'm sorry."

"Hey, no problem. I'm a bartender, so I'm used to it." I smile and almost laugh, taking another sip of my drink.

"And I'm a bitch so I'm used to pissing people off, but I'm still sorry."

"And I'm Gar, but you're still forgiven," he shoots out his hand in front of me and grins. I stare at it wondering if I should indulge him. I mean, I don't want to give him the wrong impression. I search his face for a micro-expression. Some small signifier of his true intentions but something in his eyes plead with me. They me he's genuine.

"Raven," I give in and shake his hand. He smiles at me a wide grin like I made his day and I find myself looking right in his eyes. Right at the green imperfection.

"Raven, pretty."

Gar.

* * *

_July 30_

I start at the place today. I was in the city for an interview a few weeks ago and they hired me almost instantly, apparently they haven't seen a portrait artist as good as me. It's difficult not to be flattered when the most prominent tattoo parlor in Jump City calls you the 'best'. It's called Trademark and it's the place where I got my first tat.

I was 16 when I got it. This place wasn't as popular as it is now and was a little sketchy. Kor came with me, I almost convinced her to get one herself but she chickened out after she saw me cry. She'd never seen my cry before that. It hurt more that people let you believe and hurt lots afterward.

I got a black Raven on my lower back; its wings spread soaring up. The outlining wasn't too bad but the coloring in hurt like a bitch. Not to mention it was huge, the wings spread from where my elbow touched my waist to the other side. I never got another one after that. I think that tattoo's should symbolize growth and learning or as a commemoration of something important. Nothing seemed as important as when I ran away from home. Nothing has compared since.

The Trademark is now a chain, growing to three branches, one at each coast and the main headquarters here. It's a family business run by two brothers who look like they're wearing sweaters 24/7, Mason and Mendel. They're really nice and the place looks awesome compared to that shit-hole in LA. It wasn't big or glam, heck it wasn't even very clean. But it paid bills. I spent my apprenticeship there and tattooed my first scared little teenager there but nothing compares to home.

I don't know why I wanted to become a tattoo artist. Artist, that makes it sound really pompous or important. I was, I am, just a kid that likes to draw. I used to draw a lot, you know, to get my frustrations out. My school books were covered in dark pencil lines and doodles from when I got angry at home. My sketchbook had inked drawings of birds, dragons, landscaping; sketches of my friends… my friend and what I remembered of my mom. It was an escape, drawing. Jumping into a picture, drowning in ink. I never erased anything, I just made due or I started again.

I think back and a tattoo at 16 probably wasn't the best idea, you grow, your skin stretches, your mind changes, you mature. The raven on my back hasn't lost it majesty but it's aged now; a little older and a little wiser. The wings are a bit more spread and the head looks up a bit more. I suppose it continues to represent me to this very day, more ambition, more freedom, more pride. Would I go back and take it all back? Never. No regrets.

I wouldn't take back a single slap or a single word abuse because they made me who I am. I like who I am.

* * *

_I was 8 when I met a little girl from the valley. Her name was Kori Anders and the first thing I noticed was her red hair; almost curly and reaching down to her butt. I wanted to draw it._

_I have to admit, she tolerated me more than I tolerated her. I used to always blow her off and ditch her when we agreed to go places. Then I would feel guilty because I knew she was still at the mall or the movie theatre or the pizza place waiting for her best friend. We couldn't have been more polar opposites. That's why we were such good friends._

_She watched me cry when I got my tattoo and she cried with me when my mom died._

* * *

"'Ey Raven," Mendel greets me as I come in through the door. He's the younger brother, but not by much since they're twins. He smiles showing off the part between his two front teeth.

"Hey." I walk to the back and drop off my stuff in the closet.

"Listen, we already got you a client. There's a girl that wants a portrait of her mum just under her arm. She came by this morning and dropped this off," he hands me a black and white picture of a woman on a wooden tree swing. She's smiling and laughing judging by her smile. She looks happy.

"Sure thing Menny," I say. He's looking over my shoulder and pointing at the picture.

"She wants the swing and everything, but not much of the tree," he holds up his hands in the air and shows me a distance, "About so big, that okay?"

I nod and smile back, going off to photocopy the picture. First thing's first, I have to make an outline before she gets in tomorrow morning.

It doesn't take me long to finish the outline and even less time to finalize things in my head. I do two more tattoos today, one on a man coming back from Africa who wants a symbol on his calf to remind him of the experience and another girl who comes in with her mom and wants some asinine rose on her lower back.

As I tattoo the teen's back, she chatters away about her school life and what college she wants to get into. I'm barely paying attention, laughing when I think I should laugh and nodding occasionally.

"It's sooo freakin' hot out there, babe, let me tell you. It's all this global warming business, no joke. Like 100 degrees I swear." He mom who's holding her hand nods in agreement.

"They say it only gets worse," she says.

I look up and give such a fake smile, "But you know what they say, after it gets worse it can only get better."

* * *

_July 23_

I hate him! I want to scream and cry and kick something or punch someone. I want to kill him, I _hate him_!

The cop who broke up the fight is asking me if I need a ride, but I shake my head telling him how my apartment is a few blocks from here. It's a lie, I don't know where my new apartment is and I don't know how far it is. And he obviously sees right through my lie because he offers to drive me anyways. I take a closer look and I realize its Kori's boyfriend, the one she met at some bar.

He smiles at me and says he'll drive, I nod but I'm still not listening. My chest hurts and I'm tired of sobbing. I feel like I can't breathe, I'm sobbing hysterically but I can't stop like all the air in the world isn't enough to calm me down. I shut my eyes tight as sits me in the back of his car like a felon. It doesn't help to calm me down. I realize that my hands are clenched into fists and my toes are curled in my shoes. My whole body is tense from trying to stop crying but I can't seem to relax. All I feel is anger, hurt and lots of anger.

"You know its okay to cry, you don't have to stop," says the cop. What does he know? I don't respond afraid that if I open my mouth nothing but garbled, teary nonsense will come out with a lot of swearing.

I close my eyes and will the sobbing to stop but it doesn't work.

He said he loved me. I thought he loved me. That asshole! He said he loved me. I said I love him too. The only difference was I _meant_ it. Like an idiot.

* * *

_Aug 4_

Kori left me last night mysteriously after I met the bartender. She was grinning like an idiot to see I was being social.

He ordered me a taxi after I almost drank myself to a stupor and Lord knows what other stupid things I may have said or done. Gar. He seemed nice enough, which is a nice change from the type of guy I usually find myself dating.

This one was different, a little clumsy, and a little kiddish but in a good way… I think. So what am I doing here? I've been asking myself that the whole ride here? Why?

My cell rings and I let it ring. The sweat begins to bead in my scalp but I don't notice that it's threatening to roll down my face. I've been standing in the sun long enough to fry, wondering why I'm here. The phone in my pocket beeps telling me there's a message. It must be Kori, I haven't heard from her all day. She didn't even call to ask how I was, some best friend.

The heat of the city lingers in the air and the taste of alcohol lingers in the back of my throat. That's why I'm here. A city gal 'til the day I die, can't get enough of it and I know.

An image of the bartender last night flashes in the haze of sunlight in front of me. He's smiling, his green eyes looking at me in a way Malcolm never did. How long have I been standing here? Can he see me? I finally cross the street and bask in the shade before opening the large wooden doors.

Maybe Kori was right, I think as I move into the darkness. This is me reassuring myself, like the way you tell yourself the water's not cold before diving. It's not cold, but in your head you're convinced it is but you tell yourself otherwise. But when you get into the water, it's not as cold as you thought nor is it as warm as you'd hope. It's just enough.

He's standing there, chopping lemons behind the counter. He doesn't notice me until I get closer.

"Hi," he says with a grin, that same grin that he had when I gave him my name, "Wha- Ho-how are you? Did you get home okay?" He stumbled over his words and I just smiled.

"Yeah, I did. I just wanted to say thanks," I open my mouth to say more but stop myself and just reach into my pocket for a piece of paper. I unfold it and place it on the counter.

"That's my number, call me."

**A/N: Hahaha, that was Mas y Menos! Kind of. I could probably write more in the eyes of the secondary characters, Titans East, that are mentioned here and there but I'm not going to. It's my time to move on. It's not my most popular fic but who cares, I liked it. I hope you liked reading it as much as I liked writing it. **

**magisterquinn**


End file.
